


Triple Trouble

by HipHopAnonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Caning, Corporal Punishment, Gen, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Sexual Spanking, Paddling, Pre-Fall (Good Omens), Spanking, Strapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22884349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HipHopAnonymous/pseuds/HipHopAnonymous
Summary: Three of Heaven's naughtiest trainee angels, Zebiel, Hastial, and Lograel, are fed up with Aziraphale always wriggling out of discipline, so they concoct and carry out an evil, misguided plan to take matters into their own hands.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 34





	Triple Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Here lies some very indulgent spanking nonsense!

“Aziraphale! How many times have you been told to be more mindful of your miracles? Just look at this mess!”

The chubby angel’s face flushed bright pink and he tucked his chin, looking terribly contrite. “Sorry,” he mumbled. The room was filled with pink flower petals. They still drifted down from the ceiling, but had already covered the floor and desks. Every angel in the room had some in their hair and feathers.

The class was _supposed_ to be practicing the creation of various flower bulbs, making them sprout, grow, and then bloom, but Aziraphale had been staring out into the clouds, wondering about what flavor manna would be for lunch. When the Archangel Michael called upon him to perform the assigned miracle, he’d startled so hard he nearly knocked his chair over with his wings in his haste to stand. He’d missed the instructions and very clearly had only a vague idea what they were meant to be doing. Flustered, he’d rushed the miracle and caused an explosion of flower petals, the lightning crack that accompanied the faulty blessing making several angels shriek as they were suddenly covered in a mess of flora.

“If you’d been paying attention to the lesson, this wouldn’t have happened,” Michael continued scolding. “Always daydreaming, Aziraphale! I suppose your colleagues will just have to help you clean up, then, as a reminder that Heaven is only as strong as the weakest amongst you. No using any miracles for cleanup either, you lot!”

The other angels all groaned, glaring flaming daggers at Aziraphale who pretended to study his feet, refusing to meet their eyes. This was a frequent occurrence, of course. Aziraphale was always causing trouble for his fellow trainees. Several angels grumbled under their breaths until Michael cleared her throat in warning, silencing the ripples of discord. The group began to sweep up in uncomfortable silence under the unrelenting gaze of the Archangel.

Michael lectured while they cleaned. “We all need to take responsibility for each other and strive to be the best we can be,” she gave a pointed look at Aziraphale whose shoulders shrunk in even tighter as he scurried to dump a dustbin’s worth of petals into a large basket. “The Almighty will be terribly disappointed if there are any more hold-ups on formatting plans for the Earth, so you all must work together. Everyone needs to put in their best effort. You won’t be trainees forever, you know!”

Michael waited until the room was cleaned up spic and span before summoning a pad and quill, scribbling something down, tearing the paper out, and then handing it to a very sorry looking Aziraphale. “Take this to the Metatron for discipline, please.”

Aziraphale’s bottom lip trembled, but he nodded and scurried away, clutching the crumpling note in his fist.

Three angels, who had been keeping a low profile, one might even say _lurking_ in the back of the room (while only pretending to help clean up) snickered to each other.

“Looks like he’s finally gonna get it, eh?” an angel named Hastial muttered, grinning gleefully.

Lograel snorted. “He’d better.”

“It’s not fair everyone had to help clean up. Not our fault he’s useless!” the third and smallest one, Zebiel added with a scowl. They were always cranky.

Hastial gave Zebiel a gentle nudge, and they glared at him, arms crossed. “Come on,” Hastial coaxed. “Why don’t we go and watch?”

Zebiel raised an eyebrow, clearly tempted.

“I’m in,” Lograel said.

Zebiel shrugged, though their lips twitched, teasing at a smile. “All right, then. Truth be told, I’d love to see that little idiot finally get his arse beat.”

Hastial clapped his hands together. “Excellent! Come on!”

The three angels waited until the Archangel Michael was suitably distracted discussing the next assignment with some of the goody-two-wings near the front of the class, and then they slipped out the back.

Heaven took discipline very seriously. All naughty behavior was quickly nipped in the bud with a thorough dose of corporal punishment. This applied to all angels, of course, but most of all to trainees: the newest angels, most recently created by Her. Trainees still attended lessons with the Archangels, and if a trainee stepped out of line, they would be sent to the Metatron for discipline at once. The Almighty had high expectations for Her angels, and so they all found their bare bottoms on the receiving end of the Metatron’s paddles, canes, and straps now and then. Some far more often than others, of course.

All except the _baby_. God’s newest angel, Aziraphale, always seemed to wriggle out of punishment with a pitiful little pout on his (revoltingly) adorable pudgy face. ‘Mummy’s little Cherub’ he was mockingly referred to by angels like Zebiel and their gang of troublemakers (who, not coincidentally, found themselves bared and bent over the Metatron’s desk _very_ often!)

The three class-skipping miscreants followed Aziraphale to the Metatron’s office, keeping hidden out of sight until he closed the door behind him. There was a small scuffle as they disagreed over who would get the best position to push an ear against the wooden door. Unsurprisingly, Zebiel won. Each of them was eager to hear the telltale sounds of an implement making repeated contact with a pair of pale, fleshy buttocks.

They waited, and waited, and _waited_ , but no such sounds came. They could vaguely make out the voice of the Metatron scolding lightly, and then Her voice, powerful but soft, making them tremble a bit even from outside the door. Then came Aziraphale’s tearful begging and apologies, and then … nothing.

At the last second, the three realized it was over, and they scrambled to hide around a nearby corner just as Aziraphale left.

Fire and brimstone blazed in Hastial’s eyes and Lograel’s jaw dropped. Aziraphale was looking a bit contrite, but no worse for the wear otherwise.

Zebiel’s tiny hands were balled into fists and they stomped their foot in fury once Aziraphale had disappeared down the hallway. “They didn’t even _do_ anything to him! If it had been me who pulled that little stunt, I wouldn’t have been sitting down comfortably for a week! It’s just not fair!”

Lograel ground his teeth, “Mummy’s spoilt little cherub is off the hook again! I can’t believe it!”

“Someone ought to teach that little wank-wings a lesson,” Hastial said, looking very intense, the wheels turning in his head as a wonderful, awful idea took root. “Maybe we ought to take things into our own hands, what d’ya say? Teach that little brat a real lesson.”

Zebiel’s grimace turned up into a broad grin, their sharp teeth flashing. “I couldn’t agree more, Hastial. We’ll do it after dinner. Let’s meet up by his dorm later and wait. There’s no way we’ll miss him. It’s not like he ever skips a meal.”

The three chortled and put their heads together to discuss the nefarious plan further.

* * *

Zebiel, Lograel, and Hastial waited for Aziraphale to return to his room that evening. Right on schedule, he came walking down the hall with a dopey, pleased look on his face, patting his round tummy with post-dinner satisfaction. Zebiel rolled their eyes. Azirpahale noticed them flanking his door and stopped short at once, eyes darting nervously between the three angels.

“Oh, er, hello … how can I help you?” he asked.

Lograel smirked at him, “Come along with us, why don’t you?” Aziraphale spluttered out the beginnings of some excuse, but Lograel hooked Aziraphale’s left arm while Zebriel took his right. Hastial loomed close behind, towering over him. The three angels gave him no choice but to accompany them. “We’ve got something important to show you.”

They bullied him through the halls of Heaven straight to the Metatron’s door, Aziraphale wringing his hands fretfully the entire way. The Metatron would be at dinner with the Archangels right now. It was the perfect opportunity to enact a little righteous (at least in the three miscreants’ minds) revenge.

They ushered Aziraphale into the Metatron’s office (locks hadn’t been invented yet; however, soon after this incident, they would be.) Aziraphale’s confusion was plain on his uneasy face. Zebiel pushed him towards the empty writing desk opposite the door. The one where they and the others had been bent over with their robes flipped up over their backs many times before.

“Put him over the desk,” they told Lograel and Hastial, which the two angels did with pleasure, each angel holding him down by one arm and one white wing.

Aziraphale squawked and squirmed, but the two angels kept him pinned in place. “Wh-what are you doing?!”

“Listen here, you mollycoddled little brat,” Zebiel said, flipping up the back of Aziraphale’s white robe to reveal his pale, chubby buttocks. Conveniently, underwear hadn’t been invented yet either, so his bottom was easily bared. “It’s not fair that you never get a real reprimand in here. You just get away with a nothing talking-to. I don’t know how you always manage to weasel out of getting your bottom smacked, when you’re nothing but a little prat who causes the rest of us trouble. All that ends now, though, Azira- _fail_ …”

They all chuckled at Zebiel’s cruel little pun on the angel’s name. Aziraphale struggled futilely, stamping his feet and making his bared bottom jiggle, but he wasn’t going anywhere with Lograel and Hastial easily overpowering him.

Zebiel opened the cabinet that housed the Metatron’s various disciplinary implements. “It’s time somebody taught you a lesson, Azira-fail. And since you’re way, way overdue, I propose a thorough sampling of punishment.”

They pulled out a small wooden oval paddle with half a dozen holes drilled through the business end, a long, thin rattan cane, and a thick black leather strap with a wood handle. Zebiel was one of Heaven’s naughtiest angels, and had been on the receiving end of these implements many times before. A few times, they had received all three implements during one punishment (when a particularly memorable lesson needed to be imparted on their bare bottom.) As such, they knew that the meanest, most painful order of application was the paddle first, which would bruise deeply while the holes left nasty little blisters, and then the cane, which would stripe painful welts all over the buttocks, and then the strap which would smack down and sharply reinforce the prior spankings into one big climax of stinging, burning agony.

Lograell and Hastial nodded as Zebiel laid out the implements they had chosen, both smirking knowingly (having felt them all at one time or another, as well.) Zebiel picked up the paddle. It felt strange to be on this end of it, wielding the solid wood in their hand. They tapped it against Aziraphale’s naked bottom, and he stiffened.

“It’s time you finally got what’s coming to you.”

They raised the implement and swung it down hard. It smacked against Aziraphale’s left buttock. They quickly pulled back and smacked it down against his right. His fleshy nether-cheeks jiggled like the gelatinous manna that was sometimes served with lunch.

Aziraphale howled and Hastial and Lograel struggled to keep him still, his wings fluttering desperately in their grips. Zebiel grinned at the pink ovals the paddle left behind on Aziraphale’s pale flesh.

“You can’t do this!” he whined, already sniffling. Boy, was he in for a world of suffering if two swats already had him sounding so pathetic.

“Why not?” Zebiel sneered, spanking him again. And then again. Each smack made him shout, wiggle, and squeeze his buttocks together. “You gonna tell on us? Run and cry to Mummy? No wonder you don’t have any friends.” Aziraphale winced, the truth of those cruel words stinging nearly as much as the paddle.

Zebiel blistered his bottom thoroughly, bringing the paddle down with ruthless sharp smacks all over his round bottom and the backs of his upper thighs. He writhed and flapped his wings, buffeting Hastial and Lograel with the feathers as they kept him pinned across the desk. Zebiel kept on spanking, grinning with glee at the plump quivering flesh as it darkened to a uniform shade of bright pink with little maroon bruises here and there where the wood had come down extra hard. They stepped back to admire their work.

Aziraphale sniffled, his face red and wet with tears. “Please, no more,” he begged.

“No more?” Zebiel grinned, setting down the paddle and taking up the cane. They gave it a test swing through the air, and Aziraphale flinched and yelped at the frightening _whoosh_ sound it made. “We’ve barely even begun, Azira-fail!” Aziraphale whimpered. “Make sure you hold him tightly, guys, because this is really going to sting!”

Zebiel whipped the cane down and it cracked loudly against Aziraphale’s bottom, sending the chubby flesh rippling, leaving a little pink line behind. Aziraphale screeched and pushed up on his toes, flailing so badly, Hastial nearly lost his hold. The two angels readjusted, practically lying atop his wings, and then Zebiel proceeded to deliver a thorough hiding to Aziraphale’s plump buttocks, painting stripe after stripe over the well-paddled skin while the angel screamed and twisted in Lograel and Hastial’s grips.

“He’s really hopeless,” Lograel said, grunting from the effort of holding the angel in place. “Hey, Azira-fail, you know you’re s’posed to keep still when the Metatron spanks you, right?”

“Yeah!” Hastial added. “‘Else ya get extra.”

“The Metatron always gives those to the backs of the thighs, doesn’t he?” Zebiel said with a smirk and enthusiastically whipped the backs of Azirpahale’s poor thick thighs with the cane, the angel shrieking all the while.

He sobbed over the table as Zebiel traded the cane for the strap. He seemed to be done fighting for the moment, resigned to his painful fate.

“And now for the piece de resistance,” Zebiel announced, holding up the strap.

There was suddenly a bright flash of light which was immediately followed by a mighty crash of thunder. All four angels startled.

“STOP THIS AT ONCE!” the voice boomed, reverberating through the room.

Zebiel lost their grip on the strap and fell to the ground, cowering with their hands over their head. Likewise, Hastial and Lograel dropped to their knees and lowered their heads, raising their hands in supplication. Aziraphale, wincing from the pain in his aching bottom, also got down on all fours, wiping the tears from his downcast face. All four angels could do nothing but wince and tremble, which was a perfectly natural response to being directly shouted at by God Herself.

Then the door burst open, and the Metatron, Archangel Michael, and Archangel Gabriel came bustling in, all looking shocked and terribly scandalized.

“What in all of Heaven is going on in here?” Michael demanded.

Nobody answered. There was no use in making excuses now. Zebiel, Hastial, and Lograel knew their gooses were cooked.

“THREE NAUGHTY LITTLE ANGELS NEED TO HAVE THEIR BOTTOMS SPANKED, ARCHANGELS! AZIRAPHALE - ” the young angel winced at the attention. “YOU MAY STAY AND WATCH. IT’S ONLY FAIR SINCE YOU ARE THE WRONGED PARTY TO THEIR APPALLING TRANSGRESSION.”

Aziraphale stood on wobbly legs and went to stand next to the the Archangel Michael who gave him a pitying look. The Metatron moved towards the three miscreants, but stopped short when God spoke.

“NO, METATRON. I SHALL EXECUTE THIS REPRIMAND MYSELF.”

He ducked his head in reverence. “Yes, Lord.”

The light that had been illuminating the room faded, and a tall, slender angel with short grey hair appeared, towering over Zebiel, Hastial, and Lograel, hands on her hips, her lined face twisted in fury.

“How dare you three assault a fellow angel!”

Zebiel kept their head down, but ground their teeth. The metatron ‘assaulted’ their backsides all the time! This was completely hypocritical and totally unfair! Aziraphale had _deserved_ it. Why did God and the Metatron and the Archangel get to make all the rules anyway?

“Stand up,” God ordered.

Lograel and Hastial scrambled and leapt up, keeping their heads down, quivering in fear before God’s wrath. Zebiel stood more slowly, not making eye contact, and scowling.

God lifted a hand towards the desk and it elongated, creating plenty of space for three naughty angels to bend over it. She picked up the paddle Zebiel had used on Aziraphale and used it to point.

“All three of you over the desk. Robes up. I’m certain you know the drill.”

They quickly obeyed, not daring to show any signs of hesitation. A moment later and three pairs of bare buttocks were displayed across the desk, clenching and squirming in miserable anticipation of what was sure to be a very severe reprimand. The sight was almost silly and Aziraphale might have laughed were his own bottom not still throbbing in agony from his time spent similarly bent over mere moments before. The three naked bottoms were of varying plumpness and shade, though they were all surely about to darken significantly after attention from a very cross Almighty God.

“Aziraphale?” She said gently. “Zebiel began with this paddle, correct?”

She held up the nasty, evil wooden holey thing that had burned and blistered his rump, and Aziraphale nodded. “Er, yes, Lord.”

“Very well. Then I shall begin with the paddle. Listen, you three, stay in position and keep your wings tucked up out of the way, please. I am appalled at your audacity and very, very disappointed in you three.”

Zebiel shrieked when the paddle thwacked hard against their tiny bottom. Lograel was next in line and he yowled when it made contact with his backside. Hastial squealed and kicked his legs when it was his turn.

And so it went on, the Almighty making her way up and down the line, alternating paddle swats one after the other, delivering a thorough blistering to three naughty angel bums. All three were sniffling, their trembling bottoms very clearly well spanked by the time She finished.

“Next was the cane, correct?”

She didn’t wait for a response this time, but took up the cane, swishing it down against Zebiel’s sore backside, then Lograel’s, then Hastial’s. The Almighty did not hold back, striping their buttocks with stinging parallel welts. The three howled and stomped their feet, finding it exceedingly difficult to stay in position. At a particularly sharp stroke to his sit-spot, Hastial jumped up, hands flying back to clutch desperately at his inflamed bottom.

“That’s three extra,” the Almighty said impassively.

Hastial let out a little sob as he bent back over and took the extra licks to the tender backs of his thighs, white-knuckling the edge of the desk as he wailed.

The three angels were all crying now. God picked up the strap next. Hastial and Lograel winced and boo-hooed, but Zebiel whipped their head around, wet, teary eyes wide and furious.

“But we didn’t use that one on him, Lord!” they blurted out.

“I know that, little one, but you intended to. One’s motive is crucial in determining one’s heart, Zebiel. I know what your intentions were today, misguided though they may have been, as well as I know my own: to see you three thoroughly disciplined for your wrongdoing.”

The Almighty showed no leniency. She snapped the strap down against Zebiel’s already red, striped bottom, and the angel was certain that the Creator was trying to lash the skin right off their poor, miserable hide. The strap was applied just as ruthlessly as if it weren’t atop the painful marks from recent paddling and caning. The three angels kicked and cried while thick red bands were painted across their bottoms, the cracks of the strap echoing loudly in the room.

She didn’t stop until three very contrite angels with blazing red bottoms were bawling in defeat, every ounce of fight, snark, and disobedience spanked out of them. After several minutes of pitiful sobbing, they calmed down, wails dwindling into sniffles and heaving breath slowing to a far less frantic rate. God bid them to stand and turn around before She delivered her endnote lecture.

“Never forget this day and how sore you are. You have paid for your misdeeds with suffering of the flesh.” The three angels rubbed ruefully at that oh so tender flesh as She spoke. “It is not your place to decide and deliver judgment, my children. That responsibility is mine and mine alone. Do you understand?”

There was a chorus of “Yes, Lords” accompanied by eager nodding.

“I’m implementing a new follow-up to reprimands right now, by the way.” The Almighty snapped her fingers and all three of their white robes were instantly shortened, the hem only hitting just above their hips, leaving their well-spanked bottoms exposed to the chill of the room. “Your robes shall remain like this for three days.” The three angels gaped at her, Hastial looking like he may start crying again. “You were initially hoping to spy on Aziraphale being disciplined earlier today, weren’t you? It’s only fair that all the others be permitted to witness the marks of shame on your naughty hides. I feel this is a necessary measure - a lesson of humility in addition to the flagellation. I know it may feel unfair right now, but you all should be thankful. I’m warning you, if you three don’t stop all the rebel rousing, I will be forced to find an even harsher punishment than a sound thrashing.”

Zebiel furrowed their brow. What in Heaven could be worse than a sound spanking and then having your spanked arse on public display for the edification (and entertainment) of all those other goody-two-wings?

“I guarantee it won’t be something you like,” God said, eyeing Zebiel who swallowed and shrank under the holy gaze. “And it will make what you just suffered feel like a tickle in comparison.”

She then turned to Aziraphale who had watched all of this with wide, shocked eyes.

“Lord,” he began, giving her his most pitiful little pout, “Are you going to heal my … um, bottom?”

She smiled. “No, Aziraphale.” He blanched. “Now, don’t look like that, little one. It was wrong for them to take matters into their own wings, but they weren’t wrong that I’ve been far too easy on you. You are the last angel I created, and so I will admit I have a special fondness for you, my child. I love all of my angels so, so much, but it’s shameful of me to neglect guiding my flock. I shall not spare the rod again for you, Aziraphale.”  
His wings drooped, but he nodded.

“I won’t shorten your robe _this time_ , though. However, you put one feather out of line, Aziraphale, and you’ll find your bare bottom back over that desk so fast your head will spin, and it _will_ be displayed after. Am I understood?”

Aziraphale flushed. “Perfectly, Lord!”

And so four well-spanked sore and sorry angels departed with quite a lot to think about. God shook her head and crossed her metaphysical fingers, hoping that she could thrash some sense and discipline into them before it was too late. And the Metatron cleaned and put away his implements for another day - one that he rightly assumed would come sooner rather than later.

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/HipHopAnonymou9)
> 
> [Tumblr](https://hiphopanonymousao3.tumblr.com/)


End file.
